Great Nicobar may not be a scam, but it may be too much

The debate over the Great Nicobar project has quickly turned into a familiar shouting match. It was re-ignited a few days ago when Rahul Gandhi released a video from the project site, standing amid what he described as a threatened stretch of forest, and called the plan the "biggest scam" while warning of large-scale ecological destruction and the endangerment of tribal communities.

The video travelled fast, and so did the reactions. Supporters saw it as a necessary alarm. Critics dismissed it as political theatre. Neither response, once again, captures the full picture.

At its core, the project sits on a simple but uncomfortable truth. India does need a stronger presence in the eastern Indian Ocean. The geography is too important to ignore.

The Malacca Strait, just to the east of Great Nicobar, carries a significant share of global trade and energy flows. Any country that aspires to be more than a regional power cannot remain absent from such a location. For India, this is not an abstract ambition. It is about maritime security, trade leverage and long-term strategic positioning. In that sense, the government is not wrong.

Also Read: What is the Great Nicobar airport project and why is it controversial?

A foothold in Great Nicobar, with an airstrip and naval facilities, would give India reach and visibility in a zone that is becoming increasingly contested. It would reduce dependence on distant bases and strengthen India’s role in the broader Indo-Pacific conversation. Ignoring this dimension would be strategically naive.

But acknowledging the need for a presence is not the same as endorsing the scale and design of the current project. That is where the real problem lies, and where some of the concerns raised in Rahul Gandhi's intervention, stripped of rhetoric, begin to resonate.

The plan is not limited to a military or logistics facility. It combines a large transshipment port, an international airport, a power plant, and an entire township designed to support a sizeable population. This is by no means a modest strategic outpost. It is an attempt to build a full-fledged economic and urban ecosystem from scratch in one of the most ecologically sensitive parts of the country. This is where the environmental argument gains weight, not as sentiment but as substance.

Great Nicobar is not an empty island waiting to be developed. It is a dense tropical rainforest with high biodiversity, fragile coastal systems, and species found in very few other places. The scale of forest diversion is not marginal; it runs into hundreds of square kilometres. The number of trees at risk is not symbolic; it runs into the hundreds of thousands, if not more.

More importantly, these are not forests that can be "compensated" elsewhere. A rainforest ecosystem built over centuries cannot be recreated by planting saplings on the mainland. Coral systems, mangroves and nesting grounds for endangered species like the leatherback turtle are location-specific. Once disrupted, they are not easily restored.

Then, there is the human dimension, which tends to get reduced to a footnote in large infrastructure debates. The island is home to indigenous communities, including the Shompen, who live in relative isolation. Their vulnerability is not theoretical.

Exposure to outside populations can bring disease, cultural disruption and irreversible change. Unlike urban displacement, this is not about relocation and compensation. It is about the survival of a way of life that has very little buffer against external shocks. This, too, was a central concern raised in the recent video.

These concerns are not exaggerated, but are rooted in the nature of the place itself. At the same time, the charge that the project is a "scam" does not hold up under scrutiny. Large infrastructure projects in India often attract suspicion of cronyism, and sometimes with reason. But so far, there is no clear evidence of financial wrongdoing or illegal allocation.

The port component is expected to be developed through a public-private partnership, and while major players, including Adani Ports, have shown interest, no final contract has been awarded yet. Treating it as a settled case of corporate capture is premature.

Also Read: Strategic boost or ecological gamble? Who’s threatened by Great Nicobar project

The more serious critique is not that the project is a scam. It is that it may be overbuilt. To understand this, it helps to look at how other countries have approached similar ambitions.

China, often cited as the benchmark for strategic expansion, has rarely attempted to do everything at once in remote or fragile locations. Its overseas ports have typically evolved in stages. Some have struggled to attract commercial traffic, and others have remained primarily strategic footholds.

Where China has built large-scale infrastructure, it has usually done so in areas where trade flows are already assured. Singapore offers a different lesson. Its dominance as a transshipment hub is not just about location. It is about efficiency, reliability and deep integration with global shipping networks. Ships do not dock out of goodwill or geopolitical sympathy. They go where it makes commercial sense. Building a port does not guarantee that traffic will come.

This is the risk embedded in the Great Nicobar plan. The strategic logic is strong, but the commercial assumptions are at best uncertain. There is no guarantee that shipping lines will shift away from established hubs like Singapore or Colombo simply because a new facility exists.

If the traffic does not materialise, the economic rationale weakens, while the environmental cost remains permanent. The inclusion of a large township adds another layer of risk. Urbanising a remote island with fragile ecology is not just an engineering challenge. It is a long-term commitment that, as I said, changes the character of the place in ways that cannot be easily reversed. It also raises the stakes.

Once a large civilian population is in place, the pressure to keep expanding infrastructure becomes self-sustaining. And that is where the current plan seems to blur three distinct objectives. A strategic base, a commercial port and an urban settlement are being pursued simultaneously. Each of these has its own logic, its own risks, and its own timeline. Combining them into a single project amplifies uncertainty.

A more measured approach would be to separate these strands. A limited military and logistics presence would address the core strategic need with relatively lower ecological impact. Port capacity could be expanded gradually, based on actual demand rather than projections.

Civilian development, if at all, could follow only after the first two layers prove viable. Such an approach would not satisfy those looking for a quick, visible transformation. But it would certainly reduce the risk of building something that is too large for its context.

Also Read: Centre silent on compensatory afforestation as forest land diverted for projects; RTI reveals lapses

The Great Nicobar debate, then, is not a simple choice between development and conservation. It is a question of proportion and sequencing. India does need to think seriously about its maritime future. It cannot afford to cede strategic space in its own neighbourhood. But, at the same time, it cannot treat ecologically unique regions as blank canvases for ambitious projects. The danger lies not in acting, but in overacting.

If the project proceeds in its current form, India may well gain a strategic foothold. It may also incur environmental and social costs that are far higher than necessary, for economic returns that are far from certain. If it is carefully scaled and phased, it could achieve much of its strategic purpose without causing irreversible damage.

Between outright rejection and uncritical endorsement lies a narrower, more difficult path. And that is the one worth considering.

The author is a National Award winner for Best Narration and an independent political analyst. Views expressed are personal.